


generation of figments

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [2]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Challenge 1
Series: Selection OC 6 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209
Kudos: 2





	generation of figments

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, friends.
> 
> No trigger warnings this time around. We're much more tame for now. The only thing I can think to mention is there's some manipulation made by You-Know-Who because he's an awful person.
> 
> Also sorry for mistakes :)
> 
> Featured RPs: Ava Jones, Wylan Caldwell, Emily-Rose White, Idalia Moretti, and Arin Schreave.

Jen almost was able to forget the next morning, eyes too heavy from sleep to think about anything else as she showered automatically and put on the uniform laid out from the night before. It wasn’t until she stumbled into the kitchen for coffee that she came to face her reality once again.

It was almost funny. She’d once wished she would see this exact sight—Ian in her kitchen, making breakfast and brewing a pot of coffee for her—and his gaze boring into hers told her he definitely knew of this fantasy. “Good morning, Jennie.”

And she couldn’t do anything except smile because Deirdre decided to enter right then, gasping in that annoying way she did but was absolutely genuine every time. “Ian, thank you so much! I was just coming down to start on breakfast. You’re always so thoughtful.”  _ Thoughtful. That’s one way to put it. _

Jen didn’t get long to bask in her feelings before staff started to arrive to assist with the ceremony, and even if she loathed the idea of this whole thing, she was self-aware enough to be grateful for the distraction. She still couldn’t bring herself to eat, though, despite her stomach protesting through the nausea beginning to encompass her body. She would rather eat a meal made by Deirdre every day for the rest of her life than anything Ian had touched after what he’d done.

_ What he’d done.  _ Jen had always been told Eights were the dirty ones, but when she showered that morning, she thought only of rinsing off the grime of the man in the next room. The man who had everything but not enough, never enough.

Instead, Jen shoveled the food into one of Deirdre’s dog’s mouth when no one was looking, and it definitely enjoyed it more than she ever would. Everything moved quickly after that, and she found she seldom had even a few seconds to think about her situation before someone else was explaining something or giving instructions. She had entered out of spite, chose to go for opportunity, but actually leaving was somewhat of a blessing in disguise now. 

Every glance Ian spared her way made going across the country for any reason all the more appealing, even if it was for some bullshit reason like the Selection, and she felt herself sighing in relief the moment their organizer announced it was time to leave.

In actuality, Jen didn’t remember most of the ceremony, only that the sun was unusually hot for May in Waverly and way too many people were interested in seeing her off. They even passed by her school at one point, and seeing a sign that said “POLY SCI ALUMNI!” with a drawing of Handsome Dan was the one moment she recalled genuinely smiling at the crowd. Even now, her Yale sweatshirt was tucked into the singular bag she’d brought along with her. She doubted she would be allowed to wear it anywhere, but she was content with keeping it her little secret, another thing to add to the skeletons in her closet.

By the time they made it to the end of the line, she had little recollection of the past hour. Her entire skull pulsed from a combination of the lack of sleep, food, and the events of the day, but Jen held it together until she was able to escape into the confines of the black car waiting for her. There was just one thing left to do.

“To keep up appearances, make sure you smile while hugging your family,” the organizer had told her. “Or cry. Just look like you’re feeling something.”

And it was this part specifically that she was looking forward to the least. Jen hoped the cameras didn’t catch the discomforted scowl on her face when Deirdre hugged her and that the frown she gave while hugging her father looked more like sadness. Most of all, she hoped that the tears in her eyes when hugging Georgia was enough to mask the sickness washing over her body when it came to Ian.

_ Ian. _ The man she liked to think she loved. The man who said he loved her. She couldn’t say for sure if he really did, but she knew that he hated everything about this. The nails digging into her back was enough of an indicator of the fact. Ian Mondeli liked control, and this was simply out of the realm of possibility. 

And that was exactly why when Jen pulled away, she smiled.

Because the bruises on her thighs and whispers in her ear might’ve been his, but she was not.

*

Jen spent the entire 5 hours of the flight trying to sleep. There were others around, of course, girls she’d been introduced to before immediately forgetting their names, and most opted for conversation, but she ended up sleeping a provided sleeping mask over her eyes and reclining in a seat near the back of the plane. The little sleep she’d gotten was fitful but enough to alleviate the headache just enough for it to be bearable.

Jen’s hopes of a quiet introduction to this life were crushed very quickly, first by the roaring crows spurred on by their arrival and then by the rush of entering the palace. Everything seemed to pass by in a blur—the introductions, the tour, the makeover (to which she realized she’d consented to everything the stylist had mentioned and was just grateful nothing on her body seemed to be permanently ruined). Her headache persisted and so did the day.

By dinner, the pangs in her head overpowered the pangs of hunger in her stomach, and the voices swirling around everywhere, giddy with excitement, didn’t aid in any way. The moment she was released for free time was when she finally sighed in relief. Jen had already seen the bed waiting for her in the room, and it became more appealing every second that passed by, but something about being closed in her room for so many more hours only made her head pound harder.

She didn’t pay much attention during the tour, but it was hard to miss the gardens. Jen couldn’t say she was much of an outdoorsman, but she could appreciate some fresh air and grass under her toes, and,  _ God, _ did she hate these fucking shoes.

There weren’t many people out during this hour, the sun nearly completely set behind an ocean she couldn’t see. In Waverly, it was long past dark, and at this time, she usually would’ve been getting homework done, not brooding alone in a garden the night before meeting a prince. It all sounded reasonable until she really thought about it.

God, this was a mistake.

It was easy to actually think about her decisions out in the fresh air with the cool concrete of the bench beneath her fingertips. Accept them? No, but she could rationalize, think just a little bit more in the silence. Somewhere far back in her mind wondered how  _ he _ was doing, if he missed her, if he even cared.

The memory of his fingers on her back flicked through her head for a second before she pushed it away. After what he did, he didn’t deserve the attention, not even a single fleeting thought in her head. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much her heart protested, Jen already knew that it had to stop before another mistake was made, something that she couldn’t fix with the help of an Eight.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

Her head snapped up to the intruding voice, figuring it was just another girl trying to get too close and would be sorely disappointed with the interaction, but, to her surprise, it was none other than Ava Jones. Jen couldn’t say she was a fan since she didn’t listen to much of her style, but some songs were listenable. Of course she’d made it into the Selection. Jen straightened and turned her body away from her. Usually, that was enough of a hint that she didn’t want to be bothered, but she spoke again for good measure. “It’s okay. I’ll just head in.” It was about time she crawled into those sheets and stayed there anyway.

Jen was ready to bolt, but just as luck would have it, she had no such opportunity because of course she met a caring person. “No wait, are you okay?” Ava asked. “You look a little uneasy. Not to like pry or anything but I've been told I can lend a good ear.”

_ Not to pry, she says whilst trying to pry. _ “No, I... It's just been a lot.” That was believable. “They never let you have a moment to breathe.” She looked down at the concrete bench she was sitting on and hummed. “No wonder the prince looks uptight.”

To her statement, Ava laughed aloud, and Jen forced herself not to bristle. “Sorry, this has just been like my vacation away from never being able to breathe. I don’t know if you recognize me or know of me but I'm Ava Jones.” Because Jen wouldn’t recognize the most prominent pop star in Illéa? So much for humility. “My work keeps me pretty thrown around like this so I might have a few pointers if you’d like some?”

Jen decidedly did not want pointers, but the girl seemed happy, so she supposed she could settle her own morbidity for just a few minutes while she indulged the girl. She would call it her service of the week. And besides, her headache was already getting better. “I mean, if you want to.” She glanced up at Ava to meet her eyes and gave a small smirk. “And I like  _ Friday. _ ”

No one liked  _ Friday, _ but she had a feeling Ava already knew that. “Thanks. It might be my greatest shame but at least I have the excuse of being 15 when I made it.” She laughed and moved onto her original point. “Well for me, I generally find like a—and please don’t think I’m an Angeles hipster for this—but a 'zen' place. Like I have a pretty big garden backyard because it makes me think of my garden at home in Sumner. So, for you, what’s a time or place where you just feel really at peace?”

Jen thought about it for a moment, actually thought because it was better than thinking of other things. “Whenever I'm in my apartment and I'm completely immersed in an essay while my music plays on shuffle. I can just forget and focus on where I know I want to be.”

“I get that. When I write a song I'm like in a totally different place too. Wouldn’t get essays though since I dropped out of high school.” Jen tried to force herself not to be bothered by the comment, but it was difficult. Only a Two could say something like that with no remorse whatsoever. “Do you have any topics of interest you’d be able to write on while here?”

She gave a small laugh. “Maybe. You think they encourage individual thought here? Because I doubt they'd like my essays.” Her anti-caste, pro-abolition, borderline communist essays that even  _ he _ thought were radical. In reality, her beliefs didn’t line up entirely with those, but the shock factor tended to be what got the best grades from her professors.

“I mean, I don’t think they’ve discouraged it. Whichever person marries the prince will end up queen so they probably want someone with a brain.”

“A brain with only shared opinions maybe.” She was already on the lookout for those girls, the ones who seemed to share the opinions of the palace or had no opinions at all. Those girls were easy to mold into exactly who they wanted. They would likely be the ones making it furthest.

Now Jen gave herself two weeks. She was attractive enough at first glance to make up for the garbage personality beneath it.

Ava tilted her head, and Jen had to snap back into her own. “Well, what ideas do you think they’d dislike of yours? You don’t seem particularly threatening. I doubt you’d suggest, like, whipping out a guillotine.”  _ Not yet. _

“You have no idea,” she said as she huffed a small laugh. “What about you? You have any opinions you'd be admonished for?”

Ava seemed to at least have a brain of her own. She doubted she would make it very far. “I'm not really political. There are obvious things like women’s equality, especially in the music industry. It’s really shit right now. But other than that I can’t really think of anything. Maybe an easier opportunity for caste growth? But I don’t think I’d be hung and quartered for that.”

_ There it is.  _ Her initial assessment had, indeed, been correct. Ava Jones was just another Two who really didn’t care, but it wasn’t like Jen was expecting better. Not all Twos were bad, but the famous ones just didn’t need to care. “Maybe not. Some people might want you to be, but…” She paused, realizing there really wasn’t a point anymore. “Sorry, you said you don't care about politics. Guess someone like you wouldn't have to.”

The last comment had been more of a slip of the tongue than an attack, but Jen recognized that exact moment as her fuck up because Ava’s face slipped into something else entirely. “I mean I don’t not care. I just haven’t really had the time to think. Also, what’s that supposed to mean?”

_ Here we go again. _ God, her head hurt. “Well, it's not like pop stars like you need to. People like you can get by because nothing affects you.”

"You literally just met me. You don't know the first thing about me."  _ And you don't know me either. _ "Jen Li, right?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"So in my line of work, I have to expect any questions in interviews and have answers prepared."  _ Oh no, you poor thing. _ "Therefore, when the Selected were announced I received basic information on each of the selected. What's your caste again?"

"I'm a Three."

Ava hummed. "And where do you go to school?"

Her headache may have left now, but it was replaced with another. "Something about the way you're speaking sounds like you already know."

"Yeah, but you don't seem to be aware of it. You go to Yale, an extremely expensive school. You're also a Three, so wealthy enough that they picked your caste for all selected to default to after elimination. So I'm really sure that the economic disparities of our country greatly affect you personally enough for you to have an opinion, whereas I clearly don't."

_ Screw this bitch. _ Every second that passed, every word she said made Jen want to put her in her place, tell her exactly what she had been through the past few days, but she didn't. Ava Jones didn't deserve to know. 

"I'm not really a fan of close-minded, wealthy hypocrites," Ava continued. "I meet enough of them in my line of work, so I'll see you around."

As Ava turned to leave, Jen shot up from the bench. "At least I do something with my privilege. Unlike you, I don't strut around on stage while being paid millions of dollars."

Ava faced her again, calmer than she wished she was. God, she hated famous Twos and their thick skin and PR training. "You don't know the first thing about me. Your assumptions show you as judgemental and arrogant. Add those to the list of reasons I'll be taking my leave."

_ I do know you're just like all the others who don't give a fuck. _ "Have fun," she yelled after her as Ava walked away. "Hope your  _ zen _ gives you some kind of self-realization." She stood up from the bench, but Ava didn't look back. "See you in the Women's Room,  _ Friday _ ."

Ava left Jen with clenched fists and a heaving chest, but her head didn't hurt anymore, so she supposed that was something. The whole situation with  _ him _ had almost blinded her to why she was really here. Experience. Exposure.

She waited outside for a few more minutes, and slowly the high of her argument wore off, leaving her just as exhausted as she had been before. Still no headache, thankfully. With one last huff, she headed back inside. It was early, but she wasn’t interested in socializing much more today, so it was probably better for everyone if she left. 

She passed quite a few girls inside, some in small groups, others by themselves. Most seemed like they were having the time of their lives, though Jen couldn’t blame them. It was definitely a unique opportunity to visit a place like this. Every aspect of the palace was dripping in a combination of both luxury and history, and even she couldn’t deny that she wanted to explore. All in due time, though.

She nodded at a girl on her way up the stairs to the second floor where the rooms laid, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember her name. She supposed that wouldn’t really matter for now because many would quickly be eliminated, maybe even her. Especially her, probably. A few of the girls she’d met for mere moments had already been much more kind, trustworthy people worthy of being here. It made her realize she really didn’t have much going for her aside from a degree at Yale, which she knew was absolutely not indicative of even a semblance of a good personality. She’d met enough of those assholes to know.

They were better than the Angeles University ones, though. She’d met a fair share of their kind too.

She turned the corner of the second floor, sighing in relief that she could finally escape from the labors of the day, but her thoughts were halted when she ran into another body turning the corner, a swear automatically falling from her lips. She probably should work on fixing that. The offender wasn’t another Selected nor a maid, instead presenting as a man of a particularly tall stature, but she could tell he wasn’t a guard by his lack of uniform and finesse.

His face wasn’t one she recognized, so he definitely wasn’t that important, but he obviously had a reason to be here, especially galavanting around like he lived here.  _ Interesting. _ “Oh, my apologies, Your Highness,” she said, enjoying the expression that crossed over his face from her wrong facts.

“What? I’m not—” He stopped himself and stared down at her. “You’re joking. Right.”

She raised her eyebrows in amusement. A smart guy to catch on, didn’t want to use her lack of knowledge to his advantage. Interesting, indeed. “Good observation. If you’re not the prince, then who are you?”

“Ah,” he said, not answering right away as he glanced down the hallway behind him and past her shoulder. He exhaled a breath as it revealed itself to be clear, and Jen narrowed her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she almost might’ve been worried he would snatch her and lock her up somewhere. “Wylan. And you?”

“I’m Jen Li. I’m—Well, you can probably guess what I’m here for, but what are  _ you _ doing here? Getting a bit late, isn’t it?”

“Well, I live here.” He gestured to the ceiling. “Upstairs.”

Upstairs. The third floor. The floor they said no Selected were permitted to go because of the Royal Family. She may never have heard of a Wylan, but he meant something to this place. He was young, though, around her age or a bit younger, not likely old enough to have any significant position here, unless he was some kind of prodigy. An intern, perhaps, though she wasn’t sure what kind of place housed interns with the royal family. “Are you the second prince they don’t talk about because they’re disappointed in how you turned out?”

A half-smile appeared on his face. “Better not linger. You might get disappointed too.”

_ You can’t get rid of me that easily. _ “Sounds like I stuck a nerve. You work here then? I didn’t know they gave their staff nice rooms. 

“I had a smaller room originally, but there was... an incident. So here I am.” He tapped his finger onto the phone in his hand. “I’m an intern.”  _ Bingo. _ “To the head advisor.”

Jen didn’t ask about the incident. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Instead, she focused on the more relevant bit of information. “An intern to the head advisor, really? How does one end up with that job?”

“You hear of an opening, apply, hope for an interview. The usual routes.” He rose an eyebrow. “Why, you interested?”

“Why, you wanna get rid of it?” she asked, even though there was very little that she wanted to do less than get coffee for the head advisor of the country. All respect to the Wylan guy, of course, but she was sure she couldn’t take it. “No, not at the moment. Just curious. You’re political then, I take it?”

“You could say that. Are you?”

“That’s a good question.” The look on his face was genuine. Too bad her bed was calling her name, and she had no interest in taking a man with her tonight. She stepped around him and gave him a small smile as she nodded her head. “See you around, Wyatt.”

He didn’t answer until she was already a few steps away, and even then he didn’t turn toward her. “Maybe, Jenna.”

_ Maybe, indeed. _

*

Her maids had introduced themselves earlier in the day as June, Hannah, and Lee. All three of them were young, likely younger than she was, and carried out their duties with their heads down. As she prepared for bed, Jen hoped they didn’t already hate her for being so aloof. She didn’t want to be another rich Three to them, but the day had worn down any talking ability she had left, leaving the maids with only one-word answers and silent nods. She supposed it could be worse.

“Thank you,” she whispered to one of them as she crawled into bed, pulling out her phone. “You can go now.”

“One of us is supposed to stay with you, Lady Jen.” June approached her with caution but a firmness in her eyes. She was the shortest of the three maids and looked similar to Jen, definitely at least part New Asian like she was. The leader of the group, it seemed, as the other two stood back, letting her speak.

Jen wasn’t fond of living with people, let alone being watched while sleeping, but at this point, she didn’t feel like fighting.

Seeing her resignation, one of the other girls—Hannah perhaps—came forward with a cap of pills and a glass of water. “You requested sleeping pills, Ma’am?”

Did she? She wasn’t sure, but she accepted the pills gratefully and swallowed them down with ease. It would take a while for them to go into effect, so she pulled out her phone while June and Hannah filed out of the room, leaving her with Lee.

She’d been surprised they’d allowed her to keep her phone at all and, honestly, a little disappointed. At least that way she could blame it one the palace for the disconnection from the outside world, the inability to see. Now, she couldn’t help but check her messages and try to ignore the sinking of her stomach when there were so many yet not any she wanted.

_ Cut it off. At the bone. _

Easier said than done.

She would’ve thought he would have texted her by now, apologized or something,  _ something. _ But he didn’t. He was back at his own home, preparing for the start of summer term where he would meet more girls who idolized his every word. They would try, and he would lead them on like he sometimes would, but she knew better. She would sit back while they stared at him with stars in their eyes, knowing all too well where he would be going after class. Now there was nothing holding him back. He could have whoever he wanted.

Or maybe she was his one. Not his only, but his one.

With a huff, she turned off her phone and put it on the end table before lying back against her pillows.  _ So many pillows. _ She imagined if they’d given half of all the pillows in all the rooms to an Eight shelter. It would be overflowing with donations, but they couldn’t do that, could they?

“Lee?”

The girl was making up a makeshift bed in the corner of the room. It didn't look comfortable, but as a Six, she was probably used to much worse. At least, most were. “Yes, Miss?”

“Is that your real name?”

The girl paused her bed-making just for a moment as she turned toward her. She still didn’t meet her eyes, but that could be a work in progress. “No, My Lady. It’s Galilee.”

Jen gave a small smile as she brought her knees up to her chest. She’d heard that many Sixes had shortened name but wasn’t sure if it was true. It made sense, she supposed. Simpler names were easier for people who didn’t care to remember. “That’s a very nice name. Would you mind if I used it?”

“Oh, you don’t have to, My—”

“I want to. If you don’t mind, that is.”

The ghost of a smile spread across her face before it disappeared into the curtsy the girl gave her. “Not at all. Thank you.”

Jen was about to reply but was cut off by a quick knock on the door.  _ Strange. _ She hadn’t met anyone she would consider visiting herself, but some of the girls here were too friendly. Before she could comment, her maid opened the door, and not a second later came a smiling blonde girl storming into her room, a box in hand.  _ What the fuck? _

“Hi! I'm Emily-Rose White! You might know me from a few movies I’ve been in. I recently got back from Paris and brought some macarons back for the Selected as a friendship gift, would you like one?”

Every phrase sounded more like a giant run-on sentence, and Jen was only able to listen in shock at the intrusion.  _ This is why I get fucking migraines. _ “Macarons?” She scoffed, hopefully not loud enough to hear before muttering, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It was 9:30 in the evening. Did she not have anything better to do than tote around macarons from Paris?

Emily-Rose—the fucking richest-sounding name if she’d ever heard one—tilted her head, still holding that stupid box. “Do you dislike them? I have coffee, mocha, chocolate, and vanilla flavor. I can also order some more in if you’d like.”

_ If I’d like. What the hell? _ Jen stood up from the bed and took a step forward to eye the inside of the box before picking one up, touching as little of it as she could. Those things probably cost more than what a Six made in a day. “Emily White. You're a Two, aren't you?”

Emily smiled, definitely not picking up on the dismay in her voice. “Yup! Though my family were originally politicians when Gregory Illéa took over and aided him. We bought our way to the Two caste a few years after and mostly act as society socialites. But again, I like to act if I see a role that looks fun. How about you?”

_ Oh. _ This was rich. This was truly, truly rich. A rich socialite whose family aided and abetted none other than  _ Gregory-fucking-Illéa. _ This girl had definitely come to the wrong place. Without another word, Jen tossed the macarons back into the box. Best save them for someone who actually cared. “Figures. I’ll pass.”

Emily didn’t seem bothered, only giving a small shrug. “Oh well. Again, if you’d like anything else I can get it for you. I’d love to be friends with you all here.” She smiled and handed Galilee, who’d been standing to wait to the guest, the box without sparing her a glance. Like the rich Two she was.  _ Fuck. No. _

“I know you're a Two, and you've never had to lift a single one of your manicured fingers in your life, but when you're in  _ my _ room”—Jen took the box from her maid and shoved it at Emily—“you treat them with respect. At least they actually contribute something to society.”  _ Unlike you. _

For a moment, Emily didn’t seem to connect the dots. She turned to the maid, and Jen breathed out a sigh of relief as she steadied herself for an apology.  _ After _ Emily apologized to Galilee. “Excuse me, Miss Maid. As it is your job to do, would you take this box and throw it out? It has no use now.” She turned back to Jen, apparently completely missing the absolute rage spread across her face. “Is that what you meant?”

In the corner of her eye, Jen saw Galilee move to reach for the box because, well, it technically was her job, but this girl could learn a little respect toward the working class. “No, you bitch, I mean do it yourself. Or is that too hard for you?”

Jen knew the moment it came from her mouth that it was a mistake, but the damage was done and couldn’t be taken back, especially the moment the girl started to cry. “I’m sorry. I can do that.”

And, fuck, Jen may have been pissed off, but she really, really hated seeing people cry. Even when she tried opening her mouth to say something, Emily was already running out the room, leaving Jen alone with Galilee, who already looked shaken.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

“I think I’m ready for lights out.”

  
  


Jen fell asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow, but it seemed to almost immediately be interrupted by yet another knock on the door. Well, knocking might have been a bit of an understatement because even through the haze of sleeping pills, Jen jerked awake instantaneously. 

“Open this fucking door, your shithead!”

If Jen wasn’t in the palace, she would’ve been terrified, but she still wasn’t sure what kind of people they had here. Galilee was already on her feet, halfway to the door as she looked between Jen and the door. “What should I do?”

_ Death doesn’t sound too bad. _ “Just open it.”

Galilee didn’t look too convinced, but she did as she was told, opening the door to none other than Ava Jones. Jen was only able to blink up at her as she stormed into the room. The fuck did she want from her? She checked the clock on her bedside table. 2:30 in the morning? What the fuck?

“Wake up!”

“Lady Jen, should I call security?”

_ God, please. _ “No, it’s fine. Why don’t you go to your quarters for the night, yeah?”

Galilee looked apprehensive but gave a curtsy before shuffling out of the room as quickly as she could. With the distraction of her poor maid gone, Jen turned on the light to finally see Ava in all her psycho glory. “What do you want?”

“I have a question for you? Were you raised by bears? Do you have any idea how to be polite at all! I mean, I was raised on a farm, and I've seen pigs have better manners to do. What do you do when someone offers you a gift, Jen Li?”

_ Isn’t waking someone up with sleeping pills dangerous? Can I sue her for this? _ Sue her? Maybe. Win the case. No. She sighed in defeat. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Emily-Rose White and her dumbass macarons.”  _ Great. _ “Of course they're extra, and, yes, she can be a little annoying. But when someone offers you a gift, the polite thing to do is to take it and move on even if you don't want it. The rude thing that you did do is refuse it adamantly, then even worse, call the person who gave you the gift a 'bitch' which by the way the use of that word is a whole other discussion.”

_ 2:30. 2:30 in the damn morning. _ “She treated my maid like a dog. I don't respect people who don't respect others, especially because of their caste.”

Ava gave a sharp laugh. “Well, then you shouldn't respect yourself! You assumed that because I am a Two that I am snobby and hoard money. I donate most of my money. I was born a Four, and my closest friends who I live with are Sevens. And, yes, Emily is spoiled, and I will speak to her about that, but escalating a situation by calling someone who is simply ignorant does not help anyone. You are arrogant and cruel and someone—unfortunately me—has to speak to you about that before you go making more well-intended people cry themselves to sleep.”

Damn it, she already felt bad about that part. “She's old enough to know better. None of us are children, and I'm not going to coddle a bunch of Twos just because they were raised that way. It's not an excuse to disrespect someone in a lower caste. I don't care about ignorance.”

“So instead of try to help and understand another person you'd rather call them a bitch and make things worse? And she’s 19 and extremely sheltered. I wouldn't say she’s gained the wisdom to know any better. Also, no one is asking you to coddle all I'm asking is for you to be fucking polite. You didn't have to assume I knew nothing of economic struggle, you didn't have to shove Emily around, slam a box into her and call her a bitch. There is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and acting disrespectfully back at another person.”

“I  _ didn’t _ slam a box into her.” She was making her sound like a monster. All she wanted to do was defend her maid for God’s sake. If anything, it was a pointed shove.

“So you didn’t shove a box of cookies at her repeatedly? Because at least she handed them to your maid.”  _ With no eye contact. Like Galilee didn’t matter. _

“You're making it sound like I assaulted her. She's the one who barged into my room without asking.” And so was she. Was this form of trespassing grounds for a lawsuit? Maybe. Would it work? No.

“Oh, okay, so if someone comes into my room and gives off bad vibes, I can shove things at them and call them a bitch. It's perfectly polite and respectful?” She never said that. Maybe it was bitchy and mean, but she had her reasons.

“That wasn’t the reason I did it!”

“It doesn't really matter the reason you did it. Because again, there is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and being disrespectful. You could have said ‘Hey Emily, that wasn't right. I know you didn't grow up that way but maids are people and need recognition in order for it to be polite.’ Instead you shoved a box at her, she tried again not knowing any better then you called her a bitch. Which by the way the whole thing could have been avoided if you'd just taken the damn present like a sane, well-mannered person.”

Jen already knew she fucked up. She didn’t need any more reminders. “Okay, whatever. I'm sorry. But maybe she should've tried dealing with her problems instead of running away like a child.”

“Not everyone's a stone cold ass who can handle being treated the way you treated her.”

Jen swallowed the lump in her throat, willing the tears back into place. Ava Jones didn’t get to do this to her, and, fuck, she hated crying.

But she didn’t stop. “She apologized and has spent the last thirty minutes crying to me about how horrible she feels. You didn't allow her an opportunity to realize what she had done wrong before being an aggressor. And I'm not the one you need to apologize to. I'm just the one who has to clean up your mess.”

“Why don't you just go back to your adoring friend and mind your own business, Ava?” She turned away to hide the slight quiver in her lip. “Just because you're famous, doesn’t mean I'm going to listen to you. Get over yourself.”

“It doesn't matter if I'm famous or not I'd be in this room yelling at you just the same. I'm not even really friends with Emily. I just don't tolerate people being cruel and disrespectful especially ones I have to live with. Just because you're a Three doesn't mean you know everything and you need to start thinking from other people's perspectives.”

“I never claimed to know everything,” she snapped, turning back to Ava. She hoped her tears weren’t visible. “And I do think from others' perspectives, but excuse me if I don't listen to just another privileged Two who got her little feelings hurt.”

“You don't need to listen to Emily. Emily doesn't want anything from you. You need to listen to me. Since apparently the only perspective you  _ think _ you can understand are lower caste people, as I've lived as a four the majority of my life I can tell you, you're not listening to anyone, you're only looking through your perspective, and you're hurting well-intended people because you're one of the most casteist people I've met. I've said all I need to say. Sleep well in your rich bed with your maid next to you miss I-hate-privileged-people-and-am-going-to-lash-out-at-them-because-clearly-I-don't know who I am!”

Jen didn’t have time to respond before Ava was heading out the door, not bothering to slam it behind her. Suddenly, she regretted sending Galilee away, only for the fact that now she was alone, and, for some reason, the silence felt worse than it usually did. Still, she didn’t appreciate the next person who appeared in the doorway.

“Damage control, what is your emergency?”

Jen could only sigh as the girl stared in. “Is my room the newest tourist destination? What do you want?”

The girl blinked. “Nothing. I wanted to check if everything was okay. Another girl just stormed out of your room unless I imagined that.”

Jen huffed a laugh. At least she wasn’t about to cry anymore. “You saw that? Great.” The whole palace probably heard with how loud Ava had been shouting. Whatever happened to quiet confrontation? That’s what rich people did to keep their dirty laundry under wraps, didn’t they?

“I’m surprised this is already happening on day one” She placed a hand on the doorframe but kept her body hidden by the wall.

“Yeah, me too.”

“So…” The girl took a quick glance around Jen’s room, as if looking to see if everything was in place. “What did you do?”

“I…” This was  _ not _ her fault. Why did she think it was something she did? “ You know how they say celebrities seem nice on camera but are actually awful? Well, it's true.”

“Oh. What did  _ she _ do?”

“Stormed into my room when I was sleeping, for one.” That was probably the greatest sin committed tonight. The first full night she’d gotten in days. It was simply cruel.

“Quite random of her.”

“Well, kind of. She was angry at me, but I don't see why she couldn't have waited.”  _ You know, until the sun was up. _

So then you did something to upset her?”

“I mean, I guess I…” She paused. “Why are you even asking?

The girl blinked before looking off to the side and tapping her fingers against the doorframe. “Information is valuable when you’re in a new place.”

Jen couldn’t argue with that. Every place she went, she always looked for something useful, even if it sometimes involved not the best of methods. She had morals. Maybe not enough in certain places, but some here and there. “Indeed. Are you going to stand in the doorway until I tell you?”

“I mean, don’t need to fall in your bad graces.” She gave a hint of a smile. “You already seem pretty prickly.”

“I am not prickly. I've just had a bad night. Any other day, I'm delightful.” She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. Right. Like anyone had ever said she was delightful in her life.

“If this is your way of saying I can come in, it’s not helping your case.” The girl finally walked in. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

_ You shouldn’t. _ “Didn't say you could come in,” she grumbled while her eyes followed the girl. “What was your name again?” God, what was her name? She thought back, but nothing rang a bell. “What was your name again?”

“Idalia Moretti. Allens.” Right. The very first province announced. That was kind of embarrassing. “You’re Jen, right?”

“Yeah. We’re neighbors. Waverly.”

“I guess we’ll keep being neighbors in the palace as well. I live across from you. Sort of.” Idalia looked too comfortable for someone who just walked into a random girl’s room at 2 in the morning, but Jen herself had definitely made worse decisions. At least… At least she was nice. No strings attached kinda nice.

“Oh, wonderful.” She pitied her, truly. Who knew who else Jen would accidentally piss off during the course of her stay here? Then again, that was if she wasn’t eliminated tomorrow. “Sorry if you hear more yelling. If I wake up dead, it was Ava Jones.”

Idalia chuckled. “ I wasn’t asleep yet so it’s fine for tonight.” Her eyes wandered off around the room. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“According to most rumors, meeting the prince.”

“Really? I didn't know he lives here.” Idalia gave Jen a flat look from her failed attempt at humor. Oh well. She tried. “Sorry. I suppose I'm a bit nervous, but I'm not…” She stopped herself from saying too much. Not the time to overshare. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just struggling to believe it. Like this is happening. It’s not some sleep-deprived daydream.”

“I know what you mean.” She glanced around the room for a moment, taking in the dripping luxury of it once again. Even for a guest room, it had nicer items than she had ever had the privilege of owning. She hated to think of what the third floor looked like. “It's something out of someone's wildest fantasies. Wonder what would happen if they put this money elsewhere.”

Idalia spared her a look. “The Selection money?”

“Not just that. I don't know, seems like a waste.”

“The rooms?” The brief pause Idalia gave made Jen realize she sounded like she was crazy. 

“No, just…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I'll let you go to your room. Big day tomorrow, remember?”

Idalia gave her a long look. She couldn’t read the air, but it was something different, felt almost like Idalia understood. For a split-second, Jen thought she might’ve found someone who could be a friend. “Yeah, you’re right.” She gave a small smile. “I’ll let you sleep,” she said as she headed toward the door. “Sorry if I seemed nosy for dropping by.”

_ Definitely nosy. _ “It’s… okay. Kinda nice not to be yelled at.” She returned the small, as weak as it was. “See you around?”

“I mean, would be kinda impossible not to.”  _ If I wanted to, I would find a way. _

“Hey, it’s a big palace.”

“We live right across from each other and we will probably have an etiquette lesson before meeting Prince Arin.”

“I stand by it. Goodnight…” Shit, she was bad with names. 

“Not great with names, huh? It's Idalia. Just think of Delilah, but different in every single way possible.”

Jen hummed, smiling a little wider. “Not sure your logic adds up, but I'll let you have it.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Idalia. See you at breakfast then?”

Idalia gave her a nod. “I have high expectations for breakfast after dinner.” Jen couldn’t agree, but she let the girl have her fun. Before heading out, Idalia paused at the door and turned to her hesitantly. “Try not to share your opinions with everyone while you're here, Jen. You wouldn't want to get in trouble.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m here to do.”

She shrugged, looking out the door. “I guess I wouldn't know.” Idalia spared her a side glance. “But some types of chaos are worth guiding.”  _ The fuck does that even mean? _ Jen didn’t get a chance to ask because Idalia was already mostly out the door before she turned back one last time. “Sleep well.”

Jen stared after her, even as she closed the door behind her. “Sleep well, Idalia.”

*

Her eyes were barely open the next time she heard a knock, and she mentally cursed again. Weren’t maids supposed to let themselves in and work quietly? The thought was enough for her to stumble out of bed and to the door, expecting the three maids to be curtsying immediately but instead found an all too familiar blonde.

She blinked a few times, trying to see if her eyes were deceiving her. “What…” She rubbed her knuckles across her eyes. “What do you want?”

Emily White stood in front of her, fully dressed as extravagantly as she was last night but this time without the smile. “I'm sorry, I thought I knocked quietly enough that if you were asleep still you just wouldn’t hear.” She looked off to the side for a moment before turning back. “I just came to say I'm sorry for yesterday. I didn't know not to treat maids the way I treated yours. I'm terribly sorry for it and understand now how I must have seemed like a completely rude moron.”

Ava got to her then. Jen appreciated the apology, but it would’ve been better if the idea had actually been Emily’s. At least it seemed genuine. She figured it was best to settle things now rather than make them worse. “I’m… You were rude, Emily, but I guess I should apologize for the way I treated you. You didn't mean any real harm.” Jen looked down. She really shouldn’t have overreacted, if only for the fact that she hated apologizing. “So yeah. I'm sorry as well. I'm sure your macarons were... good. And thank you for offering me some.”

“Well,” Emily said, “the offer still stands if you do change your mind. They’re pretty sweet, but there are some more bitter flavors if sweets aren’t really your thing. Anyways, I'm hoping we can still be friends. It'd suck to go through all this and come out the other side without having made any.”

_ Would it? _ She waved a hand before flashing a small smile. God, she was so tired. “I-I'm sure you'll be fine, but alright. We can... be friends, I guess.”

At her words, Emily gave her the widest smile she’d ever seen in her life. “Great!”  _ Oh god. _ “You go to Yale, right?”

She really, really wished she could go back to bed, but she figured it was best to be as kind as possible to the girl. She didn’t need every single Selected hating her. “Right, yeah.”

“My older sister Savannah went there when she was still in her studies. What are you there for?”

This, at least, she could do. “Oh, I’m a law student.”

“That’s fun!”  _ Is it? _ “So smart. I was never really that good in school. What kind of law are you studying?”

“Criminal law.”  _ Please be done. _

“Oh, like legally blonde stuff! That’s good! Are you going to be on the good side or the bad side?”

_ Lord, give me strength. _ “Guess I’ll have to see.”

“I just don’t get people who are able to be defense attorneys. How could you defend someone knowing they’re bad?”

_ Because everybody deserves a proper defense, sometimes the wrong people are accused, and even if they are guilty, some people don’t deserve the full sentence for a crime. _ “Beats me.”

“I mean if an Eight wants to get knocked up they should have to face the legal consequences for their actions.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. Hell to the fucking no.

It took everything for Jen not to flip her shit, but she saw what happened last time, and Ava Jones did have a point. Yelling at people with shitty opinions just made them a martyr. If they could be educated, then it was worth the time, even if she wasn’t sure Emily had enough brain cells to cope with the information. “God, I am not in the mood for this,” she mumbled before holding the door wide enough for Emily to step in. “Why don't you come in and take a seat?”

Emily smiled innocently, as if she hadn’t just blamed women getting knocked up deserving of being thrown in jail, and stepped in to take a seat on her vanity chair. “Thank you! Savannah and my parents say I really shouldn’t make political statements, though I never seem to know what I'm talking about. Though, they don’t like me being an actress either. It’s apparently too inappropriate.”

Sounded like a wonderful family, truly. She was aware of those types of families, the conservative ones that didn’t want to give their children any room to explore their own points of view. She supposed she couldn’t totally blame Emily on her faults then.

“Okay.” Jen shut the door and dragged a chair to sit across from Emily. “So how do you come up with these ‘political statements’ of yours?”

“Well, I assume that whatever father says is true is true.”

_ Right. _ She nodded once and pressed her lips together. “I see. The thing is, Emily, uh, the statement you just made about Eights wasn't... very nice.”

“Well, Eights aren’t very nice. From what I've heard they push drugs all over Illéa.”  _ Like a quarter of the Twos on college campuses don’t do the same. _

“Have you ever met an Eight?” She already knew the answer. Of course she hadn’t. They liked to keep the Eights in one area so that they wouldn’t taint the curb appeal of the houses of the higher caste. Keep them separate, and everything would be easier for everyone, except for the ones suffering the most.

“No, but I don’t imagine it being a very nice encounter.”

Jen glanced at the floor as the memories came back. At one point, she’d thought the same, that Eights were scary, dirty, and disease-ridden, but that’s what everyone was taught. Now when she thought of Eights, all she could remember was the kindness of that sex worker who’d saved her from arrest, the roommates whose sleeping bags all had momentos, and Martin, a guy whose mother was murdered in cold blood, with that smile. It made her regret ever thinking for a second they were bad. “Well, Emily, I can tell you that I have, and they were very kind to me when high castes wouldn't have been so understanding. They are still people, right? So you should look at them as people.”

Emily seemed to ponder for a moment before speaking. “Well, I'd like to agree, but even with them being people, they’re still contributing to a worse society for Illéa by peddling in drugs and violating our laws on sex which are there for a reason. So wouldn’t it just be best to remove them from society?” She giggled to herself as if she hadn’t casually just suggested mass genocide. It was all Jen could to keep herself from losing it. “Or at least that’s what father suggests be done at dinner functions and such. I don’t fully understand how one would remove a whole section of people or can say for sure that Eights are the only people who are obtaining drugs as they seem to be supplying more of the Twos I work with than doing them themselves, but I'm not really smart enough to be right, so I assume he must make a better point than mine.”

Jen’s concern only worsened as the girl went on, and then suddenly everything made sense. None of this was hers. Her family was just constantly preying on Emily’s naivety to get her to follow anything they did. Of course. “Girl, get it together. You are not stupid. Just... don't think about your dad or Savannah or whatever. What do  _ you _ think? Their opinions shouldn't necessarily be yours.”

“Well, it makes more sense for me to follow in their opinions,” she argued. “I mean, my father is involved in politics as is my sister, so they can both aid their corporations. I'm just an actress, my opinions aren’t going to be from an academic perspective.”

_ Alright, that’s the last straw. _ She crossed one leg over the other as she prepared her points in her head. If it took a bit of time to remove a few dangerous opinions from the world, her damned sleep could wait. “Your opinions are your opinions. Do you know how many people who have no qualifications whatsoever have opinions about politics? A ton. Your education or career or status does not exclude you from doing that. You see what I'm saying?”

“I suppose so. I've had male coworkers who I know didn’t even finish high school tell me about their views on the gender pay gap when I complained about them making more than me for less screen time. My father called me and told me it wasn’t really my place to say and we didn’t need the money, so I didn’t really argue with the coworker but he sure did talk for like an hour about how men deserve more because there is more they could be doing with their time.”

“So before your father and that guy said anything,” Jen said, hoping to lead her to some kind of conclusion, “what was your opinion about the gender pay gap?”

“It's stupid!”  _ There it is. _ “Why should he have been paid more than me when I was taking up more time and effort on my work. He wasn’t even a bigger name than me. Then, my other coworker, Kahmila was making even less than me and she arguably had an even bigger role than me if not equal which she said was due to her race which I thought was pretty likely because men directors, but my dad said she was just complaining because she wasn’t as well-known.”

In all honesty, Jen stopped listening about halfway through, but she knew Emily was on the right track. She just needed some guidance, and she wasn’t sure she trusted anyone more than herself. “See? There you go. That's your own opinion. And you can form an infinite amount of them or sometimes just not have one if you don't want to. My only suggestion, though, is to make sure you research the parts you don't know so that you have the facts to support your opinion. Make sense?

“I suppose so.”  _ Great. Time to sleep. _ “I'd just worry I'd research wrong and then end up with the wrong opinion and make a fool out of myself.”

She sighed.  _ Here we go again. _ “You know the beauty of opinions? A lot of them are different. And don't cut yourself short, Emily. You're not stupid.” Maybe a little dumb, but not stupid.

Emily laughed. “Well, a lot of people would argue differently on that opinion.” She paused as she thought for a moment. “Do you not think that eights push drugs in Illéa?”

An interesting question that demanded an opinion. Jen would always bite. “I won't say they don't push drugs, but I don't think blaming our poorest population on a widespread problem is something we should be doing, especially when it's one of the only ways to earn income aside from sex work.”

“I think it’d be better if instead of trying to lock up every Eight they just made there not be Eights.” Not super eloquent, but she was getting the opinion across, so Jen listened. “Having an entire group of people be stuck in a position with no career options seems kinda desperate to fail. And even if a lot of them are ex-convicts people can change and not all crimes make someone a dangerous criminal.”

Jen gave a small smile as she leaned back into her chair. All the girl needed was someone to stop reinforcing the idea she was an idiot, and now she’s using educated thought. It was almost too easy. “I agree, Emily.”

She did something resembling a fist bump into the air as she gave a small laugh. “Something smart. Though, Savannah would probably argue that we can’t just magically make jobs, which there I'd be stuck on how to argue that.”

This Savannah sounded like a real conservative charmer. Jen would love to sit down and… chat. “There are always jobs to be had, especially without some numbers limiting who can take who. How often are people complaining about potholes? Well, there are not enough workers to fill them. What about hotel staff? Always overworked and never able to make up beds fast enough. There's always something to be had.”

“So then would you suggest dismantling the whole system?”  _ Absolutely. _ “That hardly seems like something people would take well to.”

It would be a change, but she would be damned if people had to be sentenced to an unredeemable life for either being born or by one mistake. Jen wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t care about the feelings of some stuck-up Twos. They could cry all they want because, in the end, they would still be wiping away their tears with $100 bills. “Sometimes change is necessary. The only things it would change is the ability for others to succeed and give less opportunity for discrimination.”

“Hm, well, would removing the castes call for a reorganization of current upper castes money? Like higher taxation to allow for lower castes people to have a better starting point.”

It was getting a little out of Jen’s expertise now. She’d taken a few econ classes, but it was never something she was interested in. If Emily wanted to study, then good for her, but Jen would much rather pore over transcripts than think a lick about economic decisions. “That sounds like a really good idea.” She gave Emily a light tap with her foot. “Hey, maybe you can tell that to the Prince sometime. Impress him with your intellect.” She wasn’t sure she would want Emily as queen, but she would let her try her best.

Except Emily basically ignored her, continuing to verbalize her thought process, and all Jen could do was nod while throwing out a comment or two. She didn’t want to discourage educated thought, but she also was extremely tired from the extended drowsiness the sleeping pills provided, and she betted that Ava waking her up didn’t help.

She wasn’t sure how long she was like that, but the only thing that brought her out of her head was Emily saying “I guess guillotining will just have to be the only solution,” and Jen had to take a few seconds to think about how she’d gone from “Eat the $30 macarons” to “Eat the rich” in such a short amount of time before realizing she was joking. Hopefully. “Oh my god, you're right,” Jen said as she rose from her chair.

Emily laughed. “Well, if it worked for the French who’s to say it won’t work for us?”  _ I can think of a few less drastic options. _ “And I do love my Parisian lifestyle.”

“Oh, honey.” She really didn’t think she understood what beheading all the rich Twos entirely meant, but Jen didn’t break her glee. “That's a great idea. I'm glad you've come to some wonderful realizations. I'm sure some of the other girls would love to be enlightened as well, so I won't keep you.”

_ Read: get out of my fucking room. _

Emily gasped. “You're an introvert, aren’t you!”

Jen made the space between her index finger and thumb small. “Just a little bit.

This time, her gasp was more dramatic. “Wow, I've never met one in person.” The funny thing was that she couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not. “Well again, I'm sorry for the rudeness last night. I will be speaking with your maid privately to apologize to her as well. Thank you for the conversation.”

“Glad to be the first.” She said it more like a question rather than a statement. As Emily seemed ready to leave, Jen stopped her. “I'll accept your apology on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop saying you’re stupid.” She fucking hated when women called themselves stupid because of shitty people in their lives. Emily would be better off without them.

Emily gave her a firm nod. “Right. I can do that. Thank you.” 

Jen was ready to go back to bed, but then Emily’s arms were wrapped around her body. It was then that she realized she hadn’t had a hug like that in ages. Not the bullshit hug her father gave her or the warning hug from  _ him. _ Emily was just pure love and graciousness, even if she was a little annoying. “Great,” she said through a tight throat as she patted her back. “Bye now.”  _ Nice one. _

“Bye!” Emily shouted as she skipped away. “See you later!”

Jen only gave a small wave as she followed her, making sure she was down the hall before she shut the door and trudged back to bed. The moment she finally got settled again, the door flew open again, and she was met with the three faces of her maids.

“Oh, you’re already up!” Galilee’s smile was contagious, but she could only pull the sheets up to her nose and groan.

*

The room was buzzing with conversation the moment she walked in to find her seat. It seemed everyone had already made friends, but she was just grateful for assigned seating to save her at least some of the awkwardness. And it would’ve been fine if they hadn’t decided to seat her next to none other than, of course, Ava Jones.

The words they exchanged weren’t the same as the night previous, and she was grateful. She wasn’t sure she would be able to deal with that, especially in such a public setting. A quick glance over to the opposite side of the room found Emily chattering happily to Idalia, perhaps about her interest in guillotining, so Jen couldn’t be blamed for making her cry anymore. Okay, maybe technically she could be, but, if anything, it had led to a great improvement in Emily’s outlook on life, so some sins had to cancel out.

They didn’t have long to chat when another figure strode into the room, though she wasn’t sure that was the correct word for it. It was probably closer to “glided” because she walked with enough visible grace that everyone else looked like heathens in comparison. The person was no stranger, not to the eyes anyway. Everyone knew who Princess Safiya was. She was the person that every Three told their child to grow up to be.

“Good morning,” she said with a soft voice but one loud enough to command the room. Jen instantly decided she was not an enemy she wanted. “I’m sure you’re all... eager to start seeing as you’re meeting my brother shortly, so I’ll try to keep this brief.”

There’s a little bit of chatter that briefly filled the room for a second, but it died down instantly. As Safiya began to read her clipboard. “Normally, someone else would be leading these lessons, but I was asked to be a replacement. Let’s begin.

“I hope you all had a restful first night in the palace because now our work begins. Today I will begin to instruct you on conduct and protocol, a process that will continue for the duration of your stay. Please know that I will be reporting any missteps on your part to the royal family.” She raised an eyebrow as she considered the group of them. All 35. There wouldn’t be that many for long. “I know it sounds harsh, but this isn’t a game to be taken lightly. Someone in this room will be the next princess of Illéa. It is no small task. You must endeavor to elevate yourselves, no matter your previous station. You will become ladies from the ground up. And this very morning, you will receive your first lesson.”

She’d left Yale to continue more classes. Somehow that aspect wasn’t as daunting as it might’ve been.

Safiya, though, didn’t seem to share the opinion written on the clipboard because she rolled her eyes the moment the sentence finished, but that didn’t last long before her eyes moved to the entrance of the room. Jen couldn’t see who the late offender was, but all the Selected were accounted for, so it wasn’t any of them. The room broke out in whispers the moment the intruder stepped into the room. Being one of the furthest to the door, Jen couldn’t see at first, but then everything pieced itself together.

Felicity Graham wasn’t a woman she would recognize on the streets, lacking the edge of the royals to completely be a recognizable figure to anyone who didn’t care, but in the palace, her face was unmistakable. Jen had never been one who particularly cared about the royals aside from, well, a complete shift in government, but the news of the prince’s engagement had been huge. There was nonstop chatter of her name in every place she went. She would be a fool to not recognize her in this domain.

But the thing was, Felicity Graham was decidedly  _ not _ engaged to Arin Schreave, so why the hell was she here?

She and Safiya didn’t seem on bed terms as they whispered to each other quickly, glancing at the Selected every so often. Everyone was starting to fidget, and Jen didn’t blame them. Everything about this was uncomfortable. Who in their right mind visited the palace when the media was obsessively focused on it? There was no way she could’ve just forgotten, especially if her ex-fiance was involved.

“My sister sent someone to replace her. Lucky for us.” She said the last part particularly unenthused as she looked down at the clipboard again. “Table manners are very important, and before you can eat in front of the royal family, you must be aware of certain etiquette. The faster we get through this little lesson, the sooner you get to have your breakfasts, so faces forward, please.”

Safiya began explaining how the Selected would be served from the right, which glass was for what beverage, and to never, ever reach for a pastry with their hands. Always use the tongs. Hands were to rest in their lap when not in use, napkin draped underneath. And they weren’t, apparently, to speak unless spoken to. At that, Safiya glanced up at them. “If you follow this one, I’ll be disappointed.” Next to her, Felicity snorted, but Safiya made no comment on it. “Of course, they could talk quietly to their neighbors, but always at a level befitting the palace.”

Safiya made a face at the script. Jen decided it may be possible for them to get along.  _ Maybe. _ “She wanted me to make a final addition about how to address me and the rest of my family.” She let the clipboard drop to her side. “Queen Anjali is Your Majesty. The rest of us are all Your Highness.” A quick glance to Felicity.  _ Interesting. _ “Now, I suppose you’ll be practicing your curtsies. I’ll be walking around if you have any questions. Or to critique.” She gave a small smile, but Jen knew she wasn’t joking.

Next to her, Felicity smiled. “And don’t forget I’m here to help you.”

Jen imagined all the time she’d spent learning these skills, and now they were all thrown away along with the ring.

_ A pity. _

*

“Lady Jen Li.”

She looked down at her full plate and felt her stomach lurch again. She expected to be more hungry since she hadn’t eaten at all the day before, but her stomach refused to cooperate with what was provided. She rarely had breakfast anyway, but she really didn’t need the rumbling while around so many people. It was too late for that now. She would have to deal with it for a few minutes.

The room she entered isn’t particularly interesting, but it  _ was _ filled with cameras, which were poised on her the moment she stepped in. She hoped the expression she gave wasn’t one of fear or prayed they would do her the mercy of cutting it out. It was easy to forget this whole thing was televised for entertainment, but here it was again.

Aside from the cameramen, she wasn’t alone in the room because standing near the couch was Prince Arin, looking every bit of mysterious he did on TV whenever she bothered to watch. He was taller in person, she noticed as she made her way toward him, counting her footsteps as she went. “Good morning…” He trailed off, his eyes searching her for something. “Lady Jen,” he added.  _ Interesting. _ She would’ve expected him to have some kind of earpiece to tell him the names. “Please have a seat,” he said, motioning to the sofa.

She simply gave a curtsy and did as he requested, not trusting her voice quite yet.

“Um…”  _ Nice. _ “How has your morning been?”

She forced herself to sit up straight but couldn’t raise her eyes quite yet. She hadn’t been expecting cameras, but God knew Deirdre would be shouting at the TV screen if she saw this. “It's been adequate, thank you. And yours?”

“It’s been alright.” He shifted to sit a little more upright. Mimicking her behavior. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very.”  _ For the few hours I was able to before Ava Jones stormed into my room. _ “Those sleeping pills they give us do wonders.”

His eyes widened a bit before he spared a quick glance to the cameras. “Sleeping pills?”

They’d definitely picked up on that. She leaned closer, lowering her voice into a volume that couldn’t be picked up. Hopefully. “Was I supposed to keep that a secret?”

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. God, why did this always happen when she talked to men? ““I’m sorry, I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.” He paused as he took a breath. “Which province are you from?”

She leaned back, trying to hide the smile threatening her lips. “I’m from Waverly.”

“And how do you find Angeles in comparison?” He gave a polite smile, but Jen couldn’t say it was genuine. “Is it your first visit?”

“I visited with my parents when I was young, but I don't remember.” It’d been their last vacation as a family. Her, her father, her mother. Back when she was the only child, the only thing that apparently kept their marriage together for as long as it did. “It's much more congested than Waverly,” she added, hoping to sound at least a little more interesting. She may not have been in it for the prince, but she didn’t want to be made a fool either.

He nodded, seeming a little too interested. “I can see how you’d think that.” He paused again, his eyes shifting from hers for a moment before returning. “Are you sure everything is alright?”

She gave a small smile. “Am I that bad at acting normal?”

“I didn’t say that.” He paused like he was hesitating. “Sorry, I was just a bit caught off guard.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said before huffing a laugh. “This is really not going well, is it? I'm already making you feel sorry for being around me. That's not supposed to happen until at least the second meeting.”

“Feel sorry? No.”  _ Sure.  _ “Wait. Second meeting? You weren’t planning on being yourself?”

“I mean… I doubt most of us were.” She would be surprised if any of the girls actually were successful in the pursuit of being themselves. No matter how hard one tried, meeting a prince was bound to make someone try and look better, even if it was completely unintentional. At least he didn’t yet know most of her diet consisted of Pop-Tarts and that she had an affair with her college professor. Those things took time. Or, maybe, died with her.

“And what about me? Am I included in that?” he asked as he tilted his head.

“Definitely,” she answered immediately, not really thinking about it. It was true, wasn’t it? There was no way the prince would actually be himself while meeting 35 women he’s meant to be dating whilst cameras watched on. It was impossible. “You more than any of us.”

“Well, I’ve been accused of worse. But not today.” He raised his eyebrows for her as if challenging her to say more. She would very much like to accuse him of worse, but maybe in a setting a bit more private.

She let herself smile a little again. “The other girls aren't doing their job then. Only time will tell if someone can surpass my…” She hesitated for a second before continuing. “Honesty.”

“We’ll have to see.” He glanced once at his watch before speaking again. “Thank you for speaking with me this morning, it’s been a pleasure.”

She followed his movements as he stood and gave him another curtsy, hoping she did it right. Not for his pride but for her own. “Any time... Your Highness.”

“I hope you have a good rest of your stay.”

_ For however long that may be _ was the unspoken end to that sentence she heard as she left the room, ignoring the other girls’ eyes on her as she returned to her table. She only smiled when another girl asked how it went. There was nothing much to be impressed about as of yet.

She supposed, at least, it could’ve gone worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Thank u for reading.
> 
> Next (as of now) featured RPS: Wylan Caldwell 2 and Arin Schreave 2


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